words tingle in my mouth like habaneros
aflame with meaning, peppery in their intent
heated verses that no amount of liquid could quench
one scotch bonnet of a statement leaving sensations so stingingly perfect
they exclaim scalding rings of pain that inflame my gums
swell my lips, pulse a delicious agony throughout my body
and squeeze beads of perspiration down my face
squint my eyes with the intensity of vowels mouthed silently
a poetry so fiery that it causes me to gasp like an asthmatic
wheeze a silent J for jalapeno
scorching a trail of wordplay through my vocal array
blazing like a curry madras or njira torched with mitmita
with a grand finale featuring tamales and chilis
jerked to the point of tears, my sinuses drained, nostrils flared
from utterances best made only on a dare
choruses sprung from bottles with no labels
drop by drop of molten orange, basting taste buds in a blast furnace
deadly earnest, staining fingertips with indelible traces of sizzling lyrics
planting a pepperseed riddim in gardens of firebrands
who could season properly a stew of words so spiced
with life and love of degrees unknown
barometers blown

nth digri, 2012


5 thoughts on “Glowing

  1. Poetry still, the fetishized Word. One word too many, one word to few. Forgot itself was discourse. Nothing much to say except I am waiting for my ghost pepper to drop its fruit. And that “j” who says it’s silent?

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